Dante wasn’t answering.

That was an answer.

She forced herself to smile. “Not that you have to. I’m an indestructible girl, right? No need to ever cry over me.”

He let her go. “I would kill in an instant to keep you safe.”

“Again with the killing.” She hoped her smile didn’t look as sad as she felt. “Sometimes, it’s not about killing. It’s about sacrificing. Putting someone else’s life first.” Cassie tried to straighten her shoulders. “Look, how about we both just stay alive tonight, okay?” She glanced at the old clock on the mantel. “We need to leave and head over for the rendezvous.”

“You know I have to kill.”

His words fell heavily into the room.

“The phoenix in those woods—the man you called Jon Abrams—he won’t stop until I stop him.” The floor creaked as Dante walked toward her. Then his hand was on her shoulder.

Cassie forced herself to glance back at him.

“You can say the world is about sacrifice, but I won’t let him keep threatening you. And I won’t let the bastard hunt me. Running isn’t my way.”

No, not his.

“So I’ll go with you to meet your friends. And when you’re safe”—Dante gave a grim nod—“I will end Jon.”

The house sat, with its lights shining, at the end of Hollow Way. They hadn’t come to the home of Keith Adams in their loud, grinding truck.

A backup ride had waited for them at Cassie’s safe house. “Do you think they’re inside?” Cassie whispered.

She wouldn’t look at Dante—not for long, anyway. Her gaze kept darting from him. He’d upset her back at the safe house.

He knew that he had.

Would you cry for me, Dante?

It would have been easy to lie and say yes, but he didn’t want to lie to her. She deserved his honesty.

He hadn’t cried for anyone in hundreds of years. He’d cried after his brother was gone, but . . .

That hadn’t done much good.

“Let’s go around to the back,” Cassie said, her voice low.

They slid through the shadows, easing up the back porch. Cassie crept toward the door and rapped lightly against its surface.

Dante inhaled, pulling all of the scents into his lungs. Wolf. Werewolves often had that slightly woodsy odor.

“Your werewolf... was here.” Is he still?

Dante pulled in more scents. “Ash . . .”

“Cain?” she whispered, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes.

Dante wasn’t sure.

The door creaked open. A man stood there. His hair was gray on the sides and deep lines were etched across his forehead. “They said you’d be comin’, Cass,” he whispered and opened the door. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of Dante. “Who’s this?”

“A friend,” Cassie quickly told him. “Dante’s a friend of mine.”

Dante frowned at her. He was a whole lot more than just a friend.

The man’s gaze assessed him. “You vouching for him?”

“Yes.”

After a small hesitation, the guy waved them inside.

Dante crossed the threshold.

Cassie followed the man through the kitchen and down the hallway.

The scent of ash and that wild, woodsy scent grew stronger. He’d thought the werewolf was close but—

Is that Trace?

The scent actually seemed to be blending with the ash as they were nearing the living room.

Cassie reached out, as if unable to help herself, and caught the man’s arm. “Keith, I’m so sorry . . .”

Dante heard the restrained emotion in her voice. The whisper of pain and sorrow. “But there’s something I have to tell you. It’s Vaughn . . .”

Keith’s face hardened.

“He’s dead.”

Dante thought the man would break down, but Keith shook his head. “No, he’s not.”

“He is,” Cassie said, the words soft but certain. “I saw him. He was staked and—”

“He’s still alive, and that’s why”—Keith lunged toward Cassie and shoved a needle into her neck—“I have to do this.”

Dante roared. He grabbed Cassie, snatching her from the man’s hold even as he threw the human back. Keith’s body slammed into the wall with a thud.

“Cassie?”

Her breath heaved out. Her lashes began to fall.

“I had to!” Keith shouted as he rose. “He has my son!”

Carefully, so carefully, Dante put Cassie on the floor. Then he looked up at Keith Adams. “You’re a dead man.”